


Command Me To Be Well

by Ehiel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Plot Deviation - Everyone Lives, but here have a thing, i don't know what spurred this, post-BotFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ehiel/pseuds/Ehiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife.</p><p>--</p><p>“Of course not, that isn’t what he—Wait. Wait really? Uncle Thorin? In love? Ain’t one of us gonna live long enough to see that day.” Kili scoffs in disbelief, but the silence that seizes the room sets the brothers on edge.</p><p>Thorin? In love? And more importantly… a love that has been lost? The pieces didn’t fit, didn’t make sense.</p><p>“I’m confused.” Kili finally admits after a while. “Who’d he love? And how’d he… lose them?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, I haven't proof read this yet! It's about 1:15 A.M. here and I'm exhausted. I will proof read soon and fix any mistakes, but for now you'll have to forgive me!
> 
> Anyways, ENJOY! c:

**Chapter One.**

“I’ll never understand it. What makes him like that.” Fili says absently. He takes a long draw from his pipe, eyes skimming the unlikely lot about the room. They’re damaged, all of them, from the battle. Bruises and cuts and wounds still healing even three weeks later. There are three total missing from their company. Bilbo, who by now Fili assumes is safely back home in the comforts of his armchair, Gandalf, who is Eru knows where, and Thorin, who rests aside from them all, locked away in his own chambers to heal from wounds that truly should have taken his life.

“What makes who like what?” Kili asks half-heartedly, snatching Fili’s pipe from him and taking a draw, sinking to sit beside his brother on the warm hearth. Fili glances his way with a frown on his face and Kili rolls his eyes, moving to return the pipe (not without, of course, spitting in it first).

“Uncle Thorin.” Fili states, and a few who had only idly been listening before seem to perk up, sharing Kili’s curiosity as to what had Fili so perplexed. “What makes him so… cold, I guess. Ain’t seen him smile since… I don’t know. Don’t know if he’s ever really smiled.”

“Such is the stubbornness of Dwarves.” Both boys look up and across the room to where Balin sits in a stone chair, feet propped up on the table before him, book now forgotten in his lap. “You know what I speak of.” He says, a conspiratory look cast Kili’s way.

“What? _Me_?” Kili asks, pointing at himself. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that _you’d_ be in just the same state if _you_ lost the one you loved, wouldn’t ya?” Balin says, and Dwalin casts him glance that Balin all but ignores; a glance that tells him he’s treading on thin ice and is about to crack it. But Balin just purses his lips back his brother’s way. “Oh come now, Dwalin. They’re nearly grown. It’s gonna come out eventually.”

“What’s gonna come out?” Kili asks, still rather miffed about the accusation made earlier (even if he still didn’t fully understand it).

“Wait, wait, wait.” Fili says, elbowing his brother to shut him up. “Lost the one he loved? Who? Uncle Thorin?” He says, brow furrowed and Kili sighs.

“Of course not, that isn’t what he—Wait. Wait _really_? Uncle Thorin? In love? Ain’t one of us gonna live long enough to see that day.” Kili scoffs in disbelief, but the silence that seizes the room sets the brothers on edge.

Thorin? _In love?_ And more importantly… a love that has been lost? The pieces didn’t fit, didn’t make sense.

“I’m confused.” Kili finally admits after a while. “Who’d he love? And how’d he… lose them?”

\--

_It was always the same here, Thorin thought. Day in and day out. As a pinnacle of trade, a beacon of power, of course it was usual that great kings and queens and rulers and lords and masters would come into the courts of Erebor to pay homage to the King Under the Mountain. After only the short six months that Thorin had been of age to be present in these dealings, one would think the awe of the situation would still be with him, but no. It was the same groveling, privileged lot, simply present to deter the wrath of a greedy Dwarf lord._

_It made Thorin rather sick, really._

_He bites his tongue this morning when his father’s servant calls upon him to wake and ready him for court, doesn’t say a word as he’s escorted to the halls, but he can feel upon entering that something is different here. The air is heavier, Thror and Thrain are not mid-jest as Thorin is accustomed to. It is… dead silent. And it sets the young Dwarf prince on edge. He opens his mouth to ask of his grandfather the cause for such a difference in atmosphere, but one glance is enough to silence him._

_Someone important was coming today. But who, he knew not._

_Thorin takes his place beside the throne, dressed all in blues and silvers, the image of what a prince ought to be. Clean, well groomed (for a Dwarf, anyways) and… poised. At the very least. Most meetings Thror held began on the half hour, but 9:30 comes, then 10:00, and 10:30 too, and both father and son have resorted to sitting on the steps at the feet of the king in wait for an unnamed visitor. In the very sparse and quiet conversation that has been had in the passed hour Thorin was unable to uncover who indeed would be so bold… and the curiosity was eating at him._

_“You will forgive me my tardiness. There were… unexpected delays.” The voice is smooth and deep, like the crystal lake enclosed deep within the mountain where often the Dwarves go to bathe or in times of reflection and it sends shivers down Thorin’s spine: Not entirely good and… not entirely bad. Thrain is on his feet in an instant and, at seeing his father’s hurried movements, Thorin too rises, climbing the few steps it took to reach his grandfather’s throne, before turning to finally face their mystery guest in the face._

_It knocks the air out of him._

_Never in his life had Thorin seen a being hold so much beauty. Pale eyes and skin, hair the hue of white gold, and clothed in robes that in one light looked of the purest silver and in the next of the richest gold._

_The Elvenking._

\--

“Wait _WHAT?_ ” Kili and Fili’s voices rise together, mingled disbelief.

“The _what?_ ” Fili insists, looking at Balin with the most incredulous of glances. “You’re making this up!”

“Swear ‘m not!” Balin insists, a bit… giddy at the boy’s disbelief. When first Dwalin had told him and first Thorin had confirmed it (less with words and more with solemn ‘I’ll kill you if you tell anyone’ glares), Balin had had trouble believing it himself.

“That’s ridiculous! How could he—“ Kili starts, but the way everyone looks at him makes him shut his mouth. “Okay, okay, but _King Thranduil_?” He says at almost a whine. “That—“

“Watch your tongue. He’s still around here, you know.” Dori chides and Bofur nods.

“Aye. Still lookin’ after some of his men that got some ‘a the more grievous wounds. Trust me, laddie, ya don’t want the wrath of an Elvenking _and_ yer Uncle on ya.” Bofur says solemnly and Fili’s jaw drops.

“Wait, wait… does _everyone_ here know this story but us?” The lack of response is all Fili and Kili need to confirm their suspicions.

“Well, I’m tryin’ to tell you.” Balin says after a minute, book long forgotten where it now lays on the table. “But you’re interruptin’. You gonna let me finish, or not?” The boys grumble, but offer no more protest.

\--

_“Of course.” Thror returns, but even Thorin can tell it is far from sincere. Not that he cares. His mind is far away, wondering after what had occurred to create a creature of such ostensible beauty._

_It is all sickly formalities past there, stiff and cordial, and what the Elvenking offers as tribute is scanty at best, but Thror seems pleased enough, if not just a touch annoyed. What Thorin remembers of the conversation were none of these fanciful flatteries but what came of them after._

_“And who is this that accompanies you? I have not seen his likeness before.”_

_It takes Thorin more time than he’d like to admit to realize it is of himself that the Elvenking speaks._

_“This, my Lord Thranduil, is my grandson.” Thror states, attempting to look down his nose at the Elvenking, but if he truly wanted that he would need… a taller throne. “Thorin II. Heir to the line of Durin.” Thorin’s chest puffs a bit at the title held so highly among his people, but it does not last long. The pale gray eyes of Thranduil of the Woodland realm are enough to make him want to cower behind the throne of his grandfather. He holds his ground, however, as those eyes take their time to look down the length of the Dwarf prince’s body and back up again before again returning to Thror._

_Thorin releases a breath he did not know he was holding._

_“He has the bearings of a king.” Thranduil comments, tone dry, but Thorin could swear he saw a light twinkle in those almost dead looking eyes. “May his years outnumber the stars.” More flattery. But still… Thorin cannot help the way it makes his bones quiver within the prison of his flesh._

_“I suspect you received our invitation?” Thror asks after a momentary stare down between him and the Elvenking, and Thranduil bows his head slightly._

_“Indeed. And I have chosen to accept if it is still open to me.” He drawls cordially._

_“Our halls are always open to you, my Lord.” Thror states, but it is dry and cracking at the edges, all fluff and no substance._

_Thranduil does not seem to notice, or if he does... does not seem to mind._

_“I will have my men show yours to their quarters.” Thror says, and from the side of the room three servants come forth to meet Thranduil’s own who have stopped at the back of the hall. “As for you, Lord Thranduil, there have been made more proper arrangements.” The King Under the Mountain turns then towards Thorin. “Will you show our guest to his chambers? Preparations have been made for him to stay with us until the day after Durin’s Day, to celebrate with us.” Thorin should have guessed. Not two days ago they had received the Lord of Men from Esgaroth and the Master of Dale as well to stay for the same reasons. It was pure logic that the Elvenking too would come at the Mountain King’s call._

_Perhaps Thorin had just assumed Thror wouldn’t call._

_Thorin nods his head when he realizes he has stood a moment too long in silence, and Thror dismisses the hall, taking his leave with his son._

_There in the hall stand only two, then. An Elvenking and a Dwarven Prince._

_“Have you forgotten your words or have you not yet learned the common tongue?” Thranduil says, tilting his head just barely to the side, a touch more of that porcelain neck peeking out from beneath his high collar. Thorin swallows, responding as promptly as he can muster._

_“I know it.” Thorin states, with a strength that surprises him with the relative weakness of his knees._

_“Then walk with me and speak it, for I grow tired of formality.” Thranduil practically sighs and it takes Thorin slightly aback to see what might even be considered… sass in the way the Elvenking rolls his eyes. Thorin knows not what to say to it, so he shuffles his way down from the steps and starts out the hall. Thranduil follows him out, hands neatly folded behind his back, and in the halls falls into step beside the young Dwarf, looking down at him curiously._

_It makes Thorin’s skin crawl._

_“Is there something on me, that you stare so? Or does it simply intrigue you to make me uncomfortable?” Thorin finally grunts after some time, and Thranduil blows a bit of air out his nose in response._

_“I have not seen you before. Elves are curious creatures… and we don’t like to not know things.” Thranduil states plainly._

_“Then would it not benefit you greater to speak with me rather than stare at me as if I were a piece of meat to be devoured?”_

_“I do not stare so.” The Elvenking states indignantly._

_“Aye, you do!” Thorin puffs, beginning to understand why his father and grandfather would speak of elves so frivolously when they would jest. He still feels as if there should be some sort of reverence with which he treats the Elvenking… but the bastard is making it so damn difficult._

_“I do not. I do not eat meat, so I can not stare at you so.”_

_“Oh that’s—“ Thorin stops dead, and it takes the Elvenking a few steps to realize this before he himself stops, turning to look back at the Dwarf. “You don’t eat meat?”_

_“No, I do not.” Thranduil hums, looking down the bridge of his nose at the perplexed young Dwarf._

_“…._ What _do you_ eat _?” He says slow and confused._

_”Breads. Greens. Wines.”_

_“Aye, wine counts not as a food.” Thorin accuses._

_“Is it not made of grapes?”_

_“What?”_

_“Is it not made of the juice of grapes? Grapes being indeed a fruit?”_

_“… I suppose so.” Thorin speaks, not really seeing where the Elf was going with this._

_“Would you qualify grapes as foods?”_

_“I suppose.” Thorin grumbles._

_“Then I would say that wine is indeed a food, and a very important one at that.” Thranduil states very smugly, and Thorin wishes he could wipe that little smirk off the Elvenking’s face… but that would be rude._

_Or so he’s been taught._

_“Aye, aye, indeed.” Thorin huffs, beginning again to walk in pace with the Elf towards the set chambers._

_“Indeed.” Thranduil repeats. “Now tell me, Thorin, Son of Thrain, of you. For I wish to know.”_

_“There is not much to know.” Thorin shrugs, not fond of the way the attention shifts onto himself._

_“If you will not let me gaze on you and you will not tell me yourself, how indeed do you expect me to know about you?” Thranduil says, his voice testy. Thorin contemplates this a long moment before heaving a sigh._

_“As I said… there is not much to know. I was born to Thrain, I have a younger brother by the name of Frerin and a sister of even smaller years we call Dis. I… Oh I don’t know. What wish you to know? I do not much, for I am too old for child’s play and too young, apparently, for battle.” He says the last bit with such a disdain that the strong brows of the Elvenking furrow, gaze downcast to the prince again._

_“You say that as if it were an ailment.” Thranduil comments as they turn down the corridor where Thranduil’s own chamber would stem from._

_“Aye.” Thorin nods. “Honor is won in battle, and titles. Great men are made through the fires of war.”_

_“But at what cost?” Thranduil says, his voice only slightly edging on broken as the pair come to a halt before what is to be the King’s chambers._

_“What?” Thorin asks, looking up to those pale eyes that had so enchanted him back in the throne room._

_“At what cost do you win that honor? Those titles?” Thranduil presses. Thorin had not thought about a question such as this before, and thinking of it now he falls silent. “Do not court war, Thorin, Son of Thrain.” Thranduil warns. “For the price is far more than it’s worth.” There is only for a moment a flash of something in King Thranduil’s eyes that Thorin cannot place, and it haunts him even as they say their good byes and Thranduil disappears into his own room._

_It is not until Thorin lays in bed that night, visions of the Elvenking stalking through his mind and keeping him from sleep that he places that look._

_The next days are a mystery to Thorin, as to how he ends up so often in the Elvenking’s company. He cannot recall consciously seeking out the Lord, but often he finds himself seated beside him, even if only they sit in silence. It should not surprise him as much as it does, when at the close of one evening’s festivities, the Elvenking looks at him and in a quiet voice asks him if he may like to walk with him a little longer._

_“Do you trust me?”_

_It is late, and Thorin knows indeed he ought to turn in, lest he incur the wrath of his father in the morning… but there is a part of him that wants nothing more than to follow the Elvenking, who has already started up the stone steps inlaid in the mountain’s wall._

_“It is not as if I mean to throw you off.” He adds with a small purse of the lips and Thorin actually laughs, which both seems to startle Thranduil and set him a bit more at ease._

_“Aye, I trust you.” Thorin comments, a bit of mirth still in him as he makes after Thranduil up the steps._

_He almost instantaneously regrets his decision as they come out atop the wall, the brisk winds of winter coming in to sweep about them and nip at their heels and shoulders. Thranduil seems unfazed as he walks, one foot before the other, along the wall, as if he’d done it his whole life. Thorin, on the other hand, found it all more than a little intimidating. But, as was the nature of Dwarves, he would not indeed show it, walking as far as Thranduil led. It is when the Elvenking sinks to sit, long legs dangling about the edge, that Thorin has his second thoughts._

_“Come now.” Thranduil speaks, and Thorin almost doesn’t hear it, as the Elvenking has taken on a tone so soft it is almost whisked away in the wind. “You said you trusted me.” Thorin just puffs out air, making to retort before he sees that Thranduil is offering him his hand. Thorin takes it, surprised at the softness of those thin fingers, so different than the coarse and burned skin of the Dwarves. He thinks he might like to feel it more often, but he pushes the thoughts away. With the aid of the Elvenking, Thorin comes to sit beside him, letting his feet dangle as well._

_“What do you see?” Thranduil asks after a moment, eyes cast towards the night sky._

_“Imminent death.” Thorin grunts, eyes cast towards the ground. Thranduil turns to look at him quickly, before he rolls his eyes. He reaches out and places a finger under Thorin’s barely covered chin, tilting his head up towards the stars. Thorin freezes under the touch, his blood running cold in his veins._

_“What do you see?” Thranduil reiterates. It’s breath taking. The number of stars above him, untainted by the hands and machinations of creation. It is only now that Thorin realizes how little attention he’s ever paid to the night sky, how infrequently he has seized the opportunity to gaze upon this great beauty._

_“The stars.” He says rather dumbly, still stuck in awe._

_“Aye, indeed.” Thranduil starts, letting his hand lower to his side. “I have always treasured the view here. Many trees hang over my lands, and our view is often obstructed. But here… oh, here it is clear and undisturbed.” Thorin knows he ought to be looking at the stars that so hold the Elvenking’s attention, but he finds he can only stare at Thranduil himself, the childlike wonder in those ancient eyes that reflect so perfectly the light of the stars._

_“Why value the stars so much? I have often seen it as a… cold and distant light.” Thorin murmurs, if only to hear Thranduil speak anything more._

_“No, no… no, they are… they are memories and spark of the light of Illuvatar himself, they are…” This is the first Thorin has ever seen Thranduil falter in speech, describing and carrying on about the wonder of starlight. It is new and wonderful all at once, and this unpracticed speech Thorin finds himself craving to hear ever after for it is so… real._

_Thranduil seems to get himself very worked up, beginning to run out of words, looking at the stars as if they had the words he were looking for etched upon them and he just could not see far enough to read them. It is in one of these flustered silences that Thorin finally grows bold, reaching out and gently taking one of the Elvenking’s hands into both of his own. It startles the Elf, who turns his gaze down for the first time in nearly an hour to look at their joined hands, and then the Dwarf who put them there._

_“I understand.” Thorin says softly, and Thranduil tilts his head. The Elf who always seemed so composed seemed rather dumbfounded at the display of affection, stiff and unsure of how to respond… though he did not pull away._

_In his defense… it had been many decades since he had felt the warmth of another._

_There are many visits from the Elvenking subsequent to this, and no offer of Thror’s does he turn down. Even, to Thror’s surprise, the Elvenking extends some of his own, on the stipulation that Thorin II is brought in Thror’s party. Perhaps the Dwarves really were oblivious in their stubbornness, or perhaps they simply did not choose to believe what they saw._

_The Elvenking and the Dwarven prince were beginning to fall in love._

_But that would change, soon. For if the one-day King Under the Mountain were to take an Elf as his consort… all hell would break loose._

_And Thror and Thrain would_ not _be having that._

\--

“WHAT!” The boys shriek, sitting so far forward on the edge of the hearth that Kili actually falls off onto the floor in his excitement.

“You can’t stop there!” Fili protests as Balin yawns, gathering up his book and rising to his feet.

“You can’t!” Kili nods, looking up at Balin. “What happens next? Come on, you’ve got to tell us!”

“Oh, maybe tomorrow boys.” Balin sighs. “I’m growin’ tired.”

“But—“ They gasp.

“Tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Gosh.  
> I CANNOT thank you all enough! This story has been far better received than I had ever expected and I am very glad that you all are enjoying it! It is overwhelming and really, I cannot thank you enough. Bear with me, for again, I have not had my story beta read or even really proof read it myself (it's three in the morning here, guys, have a little grace).
> 
> Anyways, here is the next little bit and the conclusion of Balin's tale... but not the conclusion of this story! Stay tuned for... well, you'll see ;)
> 
> \- Ehiel

**Chapter Two.**

“She didn’t believe me, she didn’t!” Kili says, squeezing Tauriel’s hand lightly. The Elven youth’s mouth hangs open where she sits next to Kili on one of the wooden benches of the room the Dwarven Company had occupied last night and again occupy this eve. They all sit about, rather like the night before, in varying states of pain and amusement. Some of them are gone, about checking on others or, in the case of Bifur and Bofur, taking their turn to sit a while with Thorin, who had yet to sustain consciousness longer than half an hour at a time.

“Still not sure if I do.” Tauriel says after a pause and Balin laughs warmly.

“Past aside, dearie, I wouldn’t lie to ya. Swear on old Thror’s grave.” He nods and she finally manages to at least close her mouth.

“So the Kings were… they… I mean to say they… _Really?_ ” Tauriel breathes and the other Dwarves about the room all nod in response. “… Wow.” She says, and then she actually laughs. “Wow! Really, that’s it? That’s why there’s so much… hate?”

“Not quite.” Dwalin grunts, and Fili sits up from where he’d been sprawled out on the floor through the duration of Balin’s recounting of the beginning of the tale to Tauriel, who Kili had insisted hear this story too.

“So what was it then?” Fili asks, brows furrowing. “That made them so bitter?”

\--

_“You cannot tell me who I can and cannot associate with!” Thorin rages, fists balled at his sides and color high in his cheeks, anger burning in his tone and pain stinging in his heart. “It is my choice if I want to walk with him or not!”_

_“It is not your choice! You are my grandson and my heir and I say you will see him_ no longer _!” Thror roars from atop his immense throne and Thorin’s face contorts. Emotions flash across his son’s face that Thrain has never seen, fear and hate and scorn and pain, so much pain, and Thrain has half a mind to tell Thror where he can stick it. But he knows he can’t do that. He knows what his own father says he says in the wisdom of his years. So he steels his face and stance and offers his son no sympathy when Thorin’s eyes fleet to his father’s in hope of solace._

_When he finds no solace, he turns to leave, storming from the hall and towards his own quarters where he can cool his fiery temper._

_He lays in his bed nearly an hour before he rises again. To hell with what his grandfather thought, king or no. He would walk with King Thranduil if he so chose. It was his life and his heart and he would do with them as he so pleased._

_It startles him to find, upon opening the door, four armed guards. His own kind, men he’d ordered before! And here they stood… to keep him prisoner in his own quarters. To keep him away from the Elvenking. But Thror had forgotten that Thorin was still young and still had his mischief about him. He knew far too well how to dodge a few guards._

_“I was beginning to think you were not coming.” Thranduil speaks softly as Thorin sinks to sit beside him atop the great walls of Erebor, as they had come so accustomed to doing._

_“Ran into a few… complications.” Thorin says with a small smile up Thranduil’s way. But the Elvenking does not look at him, his eyes trained on some far away thing that Thorin could not hope to identify, even if he tried. So he keeps his eyes on the pale beauty, his smile falling. “What ails you, that you look so?” Thorin says softly, reaching out and taking Thranduil’s hand. He is even more off-put, for Thranduil makes no move to twine their fingers, or even to accommodate the Heir of Durin’s grasp._

_“I leave on the morrow.” Thranduil says after a silence far too long to be comfortable._

_“What?” Thorin says, confused. He was sure the Elvenking was to stay to the end of the week, nearly four days out. “Why must you go? When will you be back?”_

_“I have been asked to leave.” Thranduil speaks, his brows knitting together and jaw twitching lightly. “And I have been asked not to return.” Thorin’s mouth falls open and he shakes his head._

_“Who asked you? For how long?” He inquires, volume rising slightly, but the way Thranduil’s hand turns in his and slips those long, slender fingers between Thorin’s own make him lower his volume again._

_“Your grandfather says I may return to retrieve the necklace I commissioned of your people many moons past. He says I may take it… and return not to his halls again.” Thranduil states, tone betraying how he feels both astonished at the gravity of it and offended that the Dwarf Lord would ask something so uncalled for of him. “He says I may send my tribute to him by means of a carrier, and my son may come on my behalf should I need a representative, but of my face he wishes to see no longer.” There is a silence that follows, broken after several minutes by a shaky sigh from the Elvenking, whose eyes have fallen to stare past his toes at the earth’s rocky surface. Thorin looks to him and sees conflict in those ethereal eyes and those tense shoulders._

_Thorin never thought he’d be able to say_ he _was the rational one, but here he was._

_Thorin brings the Elvenking’s hand up to his mouth and rests his lips against the cool skin, but still Thranduil has not looked at him._

_“What do you see?” Thorin asks in time and Thranduil shakes his head slightly._

_“Cruel reality.” He mumbles._

_“The stars.” Thorin says gently and for the first time in the evening Thranduil lifts his head, turning towards Thorin, surprised to see the Dwarf looking straight at him. “I see the stars.”_

_Thranduil stands before the King Under the Mountain the next morning, to say his goodbyes. It was by the skin of his teeth and the ferocity of his pleading that Thorin has been allowed to even be present at this last meeting. He contains himself with all of the stoic poise he’d promised._

_That is, until the Elvenking casts him one last glance and turns on his heel._

_“Wait!” Thorin calls, and if looks could kill Thorin would surely be dead twice over from the looks of his kin. “Wait, please.”_

_And Thranduil stops._

_Thorin steps down from the throne’s platform before he can be stopped and advances after the Elvenking, who turns to meet him._

_“A promise.” He says, barely above a whisper, as he takes Thranduil’s hands in his own. Thranduil looks down to the prince, and then down to his hand as it parts from Thorin’s. In it is pressed a smooth stone, a talisman. Long has Thranduil read the runes of the Dwarves, and these he reads these with the same ease._

_Starlight._

_Thranduil sinks slowly, to rest on a knee and bring himself level with Thorin, if not even a bit shorter. He presses a fist over his own chest and extends his hand from there towards Thorin, bowing his head to the other, in the fashion of the Elves. Respect. Honor. Thorin reaches out and takes the extended hand, his other hand rising to rest against the side of Thranduil’s neck before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together, in the fashion of the Dwarves. He whispers something in the Khuzdul that makes Thranduil shake, makes his eyes squint shut and his grip tighten on Thorin’s hand._

_But he has to rise._

_He has to go._

_And he leaves with a pain in his chest, a promise in his palm and another hole in his soul._

_\--_

“No!” Fili practically squeaks, taken them all aback. They were rather used to these kinds of outbursts from Kili, but this cry from the elder takes them all by surprise.

“You’re joking.” Tauriel breathes, and both she and her soon to be brother-in-law wear matching shocked expressions.

“Aye, it’s the truth.” Balin swears, and there are a chorus of agreements about the room.

“And he just _left_? Thorin just let him _go_?” Kili breathes, having been unusually quiet this whole time. He could not grasp the situation. He’s completely forgotten the veins of hate that have run between the people, the harshness he had been shown by the Elvenking or the coldness of his Uncle, caught up in the tragedy of the age.

“No, no, not quite.” Balin interjects.

“Well get on with it then!” Tauriel says, far too intrigued for her own good. She sinks a little when they all turn to look at her. “Sorry.” Even Dwalin cracks a bit of a grin.

“As I was sayin’…”

\--

_In the six long months since Thranduil’s departure Thorin thought his heart would cease its aching. He had thought the pain would subside and maybe his eye would catch on someone else. He’s fooled himself to believe that he had moved on, forgotten the Elvenking who had held his heart for so long._

_But when news comes to him of the Elvenking’s arrival to retrieve the necklace he had sent payment for a week or so past, Thorin’s heart begins again in its yearning and he knows he has not forgotten. He spends a bit more time than usual in preparing himself from court; and he knows not whether he does that for sake of pleasing the Elvenking… or to stall as much time as he can._

_He is as beautiful as the day he left. Miles of pale skin and distant eyes and white gold hair, silver robes that cling just on the right side of too tight, and Thorin finds himself pleading in his mind for the Elvenking to look at him just once._

_But he does not._

_Thranduil’s gaze is fixed on Thrain. More precisely, on the oaken box in his hand. All through Thror’s small speech, Thranduil does not even pretend to be listening, ever gazing at the box that held what he so desired._

_The last memory of his wife. Oh, how she had loved those gems. How she had always spoken of them. It was not until nearly forty years after she had left this world that Thranduil had brought the gems to the Dwarves, struck a deal to have them fashioned into a necklace._

_He had only wished he had done it for her sooner._

_But somehow, this was his last bit of her. It was his final peace, that she was not returning to him, and with it he could reach his final closure. And something felt wrong, he thought, about casting his gaze to the Dwarven Lord with whom he had spent so many fond evenings of star gazing. He cannot call it love, what he felt for Thorin, at least not in the same sense he had felt it for his wife, and he could not call it nothing, for as the last six months had drug on he had felt his heart crack and shatter bit by bit. He was caught in a very painful purgatory._

_He has not much time to dwell on it, for Thrain comes forward with the box, and Thranduil’s heart catches in his throat. Thorin knows what the box holds for Thranduil, they had discussed it once, when Thorin had tried to touch the lips of the Elvenking and Thranduil had turned away. But only once they had discussed it, and sparse the conversation had been._

_There are no words in any language that the Elvenking can find to describe what he feels when Thrain opens the box to him, and in stunned silence he stands. Staring._

_He sees the stars._

_And just as soon as he sees them they are taken again. Before he can even touch them they are stolen away. He has paid the price, and the price was high! That necklace was his, those gems,_ her _gems were his!_

_His mouth falls open and he looks up towards Thorin automatically, a silent plea in quickly watering eyes._

_You can’t let them do this._

_Thorin turns to his grandfather and sees something that repulses him. He looks so… smug. So smug at the Elvenking’s pain. But Thorin knows he cannot say a word. He can’t, for the wrath of his kin would be far too great. He turns back towards Thranduil with every apology in his glance._

_He is met with a look of horror. Pure, unadulterated horror. And his heart shatters in his ribcage as he watches Thranduil flee like a wounded animal from the halls of the King Under the Mountain._

_“How COULD YOU!” Thorin practically screams once Thranduil has cleared the hall, lunging at his grandfather, being pulled away from the Dwarf Lord before any real damage has been done._

_“Elves have minds of their owns. They do as they please, regardless of what they’ve been told.” Thror hisses when he is free of his grandson. “And now I have ensured that no matter what is said… the Elvenking will not be returning for_ my _heir any time soon.”_

\--

“Bastard!” Kili yells, his grip on Tauriel’s hand so tight she actually must draw her hand away. “Th-that bastard!” He continues, his soft heart shown in the crack of his voice.

“How could he… he do that?” Fili says, far more reserved, obviously trying to wrap his mind around the situation. Tauriel is a sickly kind of quiet, for she knew the Elvenking, and though they had their differences… she felt for him, cared for him like a father, especially after even his own son had left him just a small while ago. And this story was beginning to hurt her too as she began to understand the hardness of her king’s heart.

“Balin, why—“ Fili starts, and it is Dwalin who speaks up.

“You saw it yourself, lad. In Thorin, before our Burglar shook him from it.” He comments, taking a long drag from his pipe. “Gold sickness has many… side effects.”

“But Thranduil would have known it was not Thorin’s fault. This would not have kept him away, not completely.” Tauriel finally pipes up, her thin brows knit in confusion. “His heart is too… strong.” She shakes her head slightly.

“I believe you think too highly of your king.” Gloin snaps from the corner, causing Oin to elbow him hard for his insensitivity. He doesn’t take kindly to it, but he shuts his mouth.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

\--

_Thror was right. Thranduil does not return for many, many years. But when word reaches the Greenwood that orcs have fallen upon the Dwarves of Erebor… even his hardened heart cannot prevent him from marching to their aid._

_He marches to the ridge, glances out and sees only blood and gore, pain and suffering: things he knew all too well. He searches the battle field with his eyes, looking as a warrior and a king for his best course of attack._

_It is then that he sees him._

_Oh, and how he has grown. His hair longer, his beard fuller, bathed in the blood of his enemies stands Thorin Oakenshield. He sees the Elvenking and his eyes plead a plea Thranduil reads far too well from even that far away. One he has given himself._

_You can’t let them do this._

_Thranduil has every intention to march his men down and restore then and there the Dwarves’ home. For he is bitter… but he is not heartless. But then, he hears it. The roar of Dragon’s breath, the flutter of hurricane wings. And he finds himself crippled. Unable to breath. His world stops and phantom pains seize the left side of his face and torso where, with the aide of his magic, he has concealed his scarred and burned flesh. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t do this. He has felt the pain of Dragonfire, and he will not will that on his men. He would never will that on his men._

_He cannot bring himself to look again to Thorin as he turns his army around and returns to where he came._

_Oh, but Thorin… Thorin cannot tear his eyes away. For he does not know of the Dragonfire Thranduil had once faced, and sees only a bitter, coward of king leaving him to die._

_And there his heart turns to stone._

_From that day forth, neither king would speak to one another, barely look on one another, and what was once the beginnings of love between them would turn to stone cold hatred._

_But from that day on, neither of them were the same that they once were, for they had taken pieces of each other with them… and without each other they could never again be complete._

\--

“He wouldn’t do that!” Tauriel shrieks, standing to her feet. “He wouldn’t have left without good reason!”

“Aye, but he did!” Dwalin retorts, and Tauriel places her hands on her hips, looking harshly at him.

“Aye, have you asked him?” She mocks and the Dwarves fall silent. “Have any of you? You just assume he would turn around because, unlike you lot he won’t go blindly into battle just because! Eh?” When no response greets her, she takes her anger with her as she storms from the room.

“She’s a wild one, ain’t she?” Ori says feebly, but it’s enough to rile up Kili, who glares at him harshly before storming out after his lover.

“Way to go, mate.” Fili huffs, standing himself. “Kili, wait!” He calls, running off after the pair.

“He wouldn’t, Kili, he wouldn’t!” Tauriel is insisting as Fili approaches and Kili is silent, just trying to get her to calm down.

“We’re not saying he would or wouldn’t, Tauriel!” Fili says, resting a hand on her arm and she seems to at least shut up a moment. “Dwarves like to tell tales, who knows if that was even true! Any of it! It’s a tale, pray don’t get so worked up about it.” Fili begs, and it seems to work.

Until Kili speaks up.

“What do you mean, wasn’t real! It makes sense, don’t it?” Kili insists, and Fili sighs.

“Look, Kili—“

“No, he’s right.” Tauriel says, having calmed herself at least enough for rational thought. “It makes sense, it all makes sense! You said yourself! You were so appalled at the actions of King Thror, and I at my own king. People don’t just act that way for nothing.”

“I think there’s more to this story than any of us realize.” Kili appends. Fili frowns a moment.

“So you’re saying… we’ve just listened to the world’s biggest _misunderstanding_?” He states, and they all share a look.

Indeed. That’s what it was, what it had to be. It was so out of character, some of the bits of the tale, that something, somewhere, had to have not been right, not been interpreted the way it was intended.

“And for it… our Uncle suffers.” Kili says softly.

“And my,” Tauriel stops a moment and wets her lips, willing the word ‘father’ away. “King.” There is a weighted silence that falls as they all look at each other and contemplate in their hearts what to do with this new found information. There’s a final look between Fili and Kili that seal their fate.

“We have to fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so there it was! Congrats, you've made it this far!  
> ANNOUNCEMENTS:  
> I'm taking requests on tumblr at ehiel-the-elvenking.tumblr.com  
> Like No One's Watching will likely resume after Christmas (and possibly after New Years depending on the state of things).
> 
> Comments, questions, or concerns? Leave 'em for me in the comments!  
> Until next time!  
> \- Ehiel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Yeah, yeah, I know, I haven't updated Like No One's Watching in ages, and trust me there is a new chapter in the works, I just have lost a bit of my muse for it of late. Holiday stress, I think. But this idea popped into my head and I just had to flesh some of it out before I forgot. This one might likely be a candidate for being longer than Like No One's Watching when all's said and done... but that remains to be seen.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! The idea was kind of... post BOTFA, everyone lives, Kili and Fili get a little story they never heard about their uncle and a certain Elvenking.
> 
> AND KILI HAS NO ROOM TO JUDGE BECAUSE HES GOT SOME FINE ELF CANDY ON HIS ARM AND HE CAN JUST SHUT HIS LITTLE MOUTH.
> 
> Fili on the other hand gets the right to be mortified.
> 
> Any ways, let me know what you guys think and if you'd like to see more of this!
> 
> Til next time.  
> \- Ehiel


End file.
